


Desperate and Broken

by mggislife2789



Category: Criminal Minds, Spencer Reid - Fandom
Genre: Drug Abuse, Drug Addiction, F/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 12:29:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10100873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mggislife2789/pseuds/mggislife2789
Summary: Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters or their original stories. This is only for fun. It's where my brain goes after the credits roll. No copyright intended. Better safe than sorry. ;)





	

Something is definitely wrong with him.

Why hasn’t he said anything to me? We’ve been friends for nearly a decade. What could be going on in his life that is so horrible he couldn’t tell me? Spencer had been to hell and back in his years with the Bureau. He’d been shot multiple times. His boss’s wife had been shot dead with her child just upstairs. He’d had his own girlfriend shot right before his eyes. He’d been captured by a serial killer and tortured for days. He’d been addicted to drugs because of it. And you’d been there through it all.

But lately something was definitely wrong. His skin had taken on a drawn look, his eyes sinking further and further into his skull, as though he were actually in the act of dying. He’d been pulling away not only from his friends at the BAU, but you as well. He was pulling away from you…it was extremely unlike him. He told you everything. Had you done something wrong and not noticed? Couldn’t be.

It didn’t matter. Something was wrong with your best friend and you needed to figure out what it was, so instead of calling him and having him blow you off, as he had been apt to do lately, you pushed yourself up off the couch, put your hair in the crappiest bun possible and walked down the street in your pajamas. You looked like hell, but honestly you didn’t give a flying fuck.

As you walked into Spencer’s building, you started to grow hot with anger. After ten years, what the fuck wouldn’t he want to tell you; you were hurt. Furiously, you knocked on the door and waited until you heard Spencer on the other side of the door. “What is it, Y/N?” he said, seemingly aggravated. Had you interrupted something? “I can’t hang out today.” You heard footsteps start to walk away from the door, so you banged on the door again and screamed back.

“I don’t care!” you yelled, the smoke practically coming out of your ears. “Something is wrong and you’re not telling me. I will not have you push me out. Open the goddamn door!”

With a quick motion that startled you, causing you to hop back from the door, Spencer opened up. He looked like absolute hell. The sinking look in his face was even more exaggerated. “What’s wrong?” you asked pointedly. “Are you sick? Is work getting to you? Tell me,” you croaked. “My best friend is in pain and he won’t let me help.”

Without saying a word, Spencer turned away from the door, so you invited yourself in. “You can’t just come over here whenever you want,” he snapped, the hair practically matting to his forehead. It looked like he hadn’t taken a shower in does. What the fuck was going on? Plus, you’d been inviting yourself over to his apartment for practically nine years at this point - and now it was a problem? No. Just further proof that something was very, very wrong.

In your standoff, you also said nothing, instead looking around his apartment for some indication of what was wrong with him. Then you spotted it. On his bookshelf. Ever since you’d met him, he had his books in the same place on each shelf. He never moved them. But one of his copies of Anna Karenina, the Russian one maybe, was in the wrong place - on its side, a shelf below where it normally was. When you made the step over to the bookshelf, he lunged toward you in an attempt to rip the book from you, but you pulled away and ran across the room, opening the book as you went.

This was his English copy of the novel and he’d hollowed it out. Spencer had hollowed out a book. You knew something was wrong. Inside was the dilauded he swore he’d never get into again. You were there nearly eight years before when he first got addicted to it. But that had been Tobias Henkel’s fault. This…why? He’d gotten past this. He had people to talk to. “What the hell is this?” you screamed, throwing the empty book across the floor and holding up the bottle. “This is why you’ve been puling away from me? Because you’re into this garbage again?” 

The determination and anger in his eyes immediately softened to a look of disappointment. He attempted to open his mouth, but nothing came out. “Why Spence?” you cried, hot tears falling onto the floor beneath you. “What could be going on in your life that would cause you to turn to drugs rather than me?”

“I don’t want to unload my work on you,” he cracked, shuffling his feet back and forth. “I struggle every day with the images I see and you didn’t sign up for that.”

“I did!” you yelled, your neck straining in anger as you ran toward his bedroom, which faced an alleyway. “I didn’t join the BAU, but I’m your best friend! I signed on for helping you through whatever you came up against and vice versa! At least, that’s what I thought!” As you opened the window, he attempted to stop you, but you hurled the bottle out of the window and watched as it smashed the opposing wall, the glass shattering into a million pieces and the liquid seeping into the concrete.

“Y/N! Dammit!” he exclaimed, turning around and knocking a mess of crap off his desk. “Do you know what I have to go through to get that?”

“Yes!” you screamed, walking up to him and pushing him in the chest. “Or don’t you remember how you told me about all of this eight years ago!” The heated tears continued to flow as you walked out of his bedroom and he ran after you, grabbing your wrists and turning you to him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his lip quivering with disappointment. He looked utterly heartbroken, sick and desperate, and it broke you. He was deserving of so much more than this. “I didn’t mean to disappoint you. It seems I disappoint everyone.”

Leaning into him, you began to sob, beating his chest with your fists as he continued to apologize. “This isn’t about me being disappointed,” you cried. “It’s about you. You’re in such pain that you felt the need to turn to drugs. You’re hurting, that’s why I’m devastated. It has nothing to do with disappointment.”

As he pushed you away, you thought that maybe you had said the wrong thing, that he was going to dive right back into the drugs and forget this conversation ever happened, but he didn’t. He reached into the cabinet and pulled out another bottle of dilauded, and another, and another, until he returned to you with six bottles of drugs from all over the apartment. Taking them and putting them in your bag, you made a note to find a way to properly dispose of them later. Your anger had caused you to throw the one out the window, but if you did that with the rest of them someone might take notice and trace them back to him. “It’s gonna be okay, Spence,” you said, wrapping your arms around his neck. “You need NA meetings again. You need to talk to someone. If it can’t be me, then someone, please. I can’t watch you like this.”

“I’ll get help,” he cracked. “I promise…I’m sorry. I never wanted…”

You placed your finger on his lips, silently telling him to stop. You didn’t want an apology. You wanted him to get help. “You’re gonna get through this again. I’m going to make sure of it.”


End file.
